


Honorblocked

by romulusgloriosus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: French Clowns, Gore, Graphic Violence, Imperialism, Multi, Partial Nudity, Space Opera, non-binary characters, strong woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-10-19 02:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20649437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romulusgloriosus/pseuds/romulusgloriosus
Summary: Circumstantially simultaneously, in a galaxy that isn't even in our universe...It is a time of GALACTIC STRIFE. A race to control THE GALAXY is being held between the forces of the EVIL ALTERNIAN EMPIRE and its rivals, the ALFHEIM FEDERATION - a confederation of planets allied to oppose Alternian conquest - and the REPUBL1C OF NEVERLAND - a rebel faction of Alternian trolls following in the footsteps of The Summoner.Amidst all of this chaos, FOUR TROLL LEGIONNAIRES find themselves at the heart of the conflict not just within their own galaxy, but FAR BEYOND IT as well....(An Original Work set in Homestuck's Post-Scratch Universe A.)





	1. Act I Scene I

Nell (@nellcromancer) “If you want your thoughts and ideas to matter, make something that showcases how those ideas look in action. If people like it, it will spread. You have the same power as anyone else to make something. And Come on. It’s Homestuck. The thing you make doesn’t have to even be GOOD.” 1 Sept 2019, 11:10am Pacific Time. Tweet.  
  
ACT I.

_SCENE I. Theotherone, the Moon of Thatone, habitable Planet of the Thisone System – de jure ruled by the Alternian Empire, under occupation by rebel forces. By Alternian reckoning, it is the 1025th Sweep of the Reign of the Cleric Empress, also called Her Imperious Condescension, who controls roughly half of The Galaxy. _

There is a quiet beep as the light on the electronic lock switches from red to green, and the chain-link gate it is attached to rattles open. The gate guard operating the panel on the other side is a troll carrying a metal club and dressed in poorly put together armor made from musclebeast leather and the salvaged hulls of fallen starships. It looks heavy and unwieldy – armor that would be more harm than help in a serious strife. Painted on his armor in bronze-colored blood, likely his own, is the Sign of the Unfledged - the symbol of the Republ1c of Neverland, or as the Alternian Empire calls them with only a hint of irony, “rebel scum.”

GUARD: ,,you sure this is HIM,,agentaTOR??  
AGENTATOR: <<< pawsitive <<<

The Agentator shoves The Prisoner through the gate, which shakes and squeals as it closes. The Republ1c, for all of the pomp and circumstance of its name, is materially still a guerilla force made up of local aliens, escaped slaves, and peasants, and therefore does not have access to the best, most up to date, or even non-rusted equipment in most cases. But being “rusty” is a point of pride among them, as that is often the pejorative used by the upper classes to those of their blood color, which tends towards the warmer shades. The Agentator, however, is neither a local alien, an escaped slave, or even a peasant – their blood is olive, a solidly middle class color, which makes their defection from the empire all the more shocking to the rebels…and all the more useful to them as well. The Agentator is dressed in the standard armor of the Alternian Legions – a skin-tight suit made from pure Watsitonium, illuminated with lines the color of the wearer’s blood – as better to blend in among the troops. Their eyes are also a sparkling olive, and their horns are tiny and pointed.

Their Prisoner, handcuffed, is also wearing the armor of the Alternian Legions, though the blood-colored lines are a solid gray. Long black hair covers the front of his bowed head and falls down his back, and his horns stick out from his forehead like those of an “Oni” from the mythology of “Japan” on “Earth” – all things that do not (and might never) actually exist. What is visible of his face is dirty and scuffed. On Theotherone, “daytime” came rarely, so it is difficult to see the color of The Prisoner’s dried blood on his face. There is also very little light in the rebel camp in general, so as to avoid standing out from above.

AGENTATOR: <<< he was a nightmeowre to catpurr, and who else but him could avoid hemotyping without being culled on the spawt? <<<  
GUARD: ,,good point agentaTOR,,but I just cant believe you actually captured HIM,,  
GUARD: ,,makoto suTRAH,,

The Guard stares in awe at The Prisoner, who makes no sound and does not look up at his captors. His handcuffs are likely one of the few things the rebels have which are actually made from watsitonium. They are needed, because the man they contain – the one up to this point called The Prisoner – is a particularly dangerous one. Makoto Sutrah, Hellbeast of the Legions, the only one to hold the prestigious title of Samuripper. The troll warrior’s unprecedented skill in strife, robotics, and sheer vim is the last thing keeping the Republ1c of Neverland from finally claiming Theotherone as its first official conquest – and now, at last, he is in chains, ready to be brought to justice.

The two of them stand in silence for a few moments, until finally the Agentator clears their throat.

AGENTATOR: <<< well? i didn’t go to all that trouble to catpurr him just to show him off to you <<<  
GUARD: ,,oh RIGHT,,sorry agentaTOR,,we should bring him to the elder right aWAY,,

The Guard leads the Agentator through the camp, and to their left and to their right men, women, aliens, and others poke their heads out from doors and windows of the camp to see who has been captured, and as each of them take in the gray color of his armor gasps and whispers erupt among them. One troll even faints at the sight. Amidst all of the commotion, little giggles of excitement in the shadows nearby first go unnoticed, but they grow louder as the three approach the main building.

GUARD: ,,did you hear THAT,,  
AGENTATOR: <<< what? <<<  
GUARD: ,,it sounded LIKE,,  
GUARD: ,,laughING,,  
GUARD: ,,mayBE,,  
AGENTATOR: <<< neow, i didnt hear anything? maybe someownes just excited we finally got the sameowripper <<<

The Guard does not seem to be put at ease. Laughing is seldom a good thing when it comes to war against the Alternians. Given Makoto’s reputation, it would not be out of the question that the Empire would send one of its horrid Laughsassins to rescue him, or at least make sure he won’t be used against them. The Guard wants to just ignore it, but he just can’t.

GUARD: ,,mayBE,,  
GUARD: ,,i JUST,,  
GUARD: ,,want to make sure it isNT,,  
GUARD: ,,you KNOW,,

The Agentator looks nonplussed. The Guard can’t blame them. They have gone to a lot of trouble to capture the most dangerous enemy of the rebellion on Theotherone, and are probably really looking forward to getting their deserved credit. But the Guard would be a pretty terrible Guard if he didn’t at least check to make sure that a Laughsassin hasn’t infiltrated their camp before bringing the Samuripper to judgment.

GUARD: ,,ill JUST,,  
GUARD: ,,go CHECK,,you KNOW,,  
GUARD: ,,make sure there isnt A,,  
GUARD: ,,  
GUARD: ,,laughsasSIN,,  
GUARD: ,,you can take him ahead yourself agentaTOR,,  
GUARD: ,,get your creDIT,,  
AGENTATOR: <<< neow <<<

There is quiet between them for a beat. The Guard looks incredulous.

GUARD: ,,NO,,  
GUARD: ,,what do you mean NO,,  
AGENTATOR: <<< i meown neow <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< ok too meowny cat puns that time seowrry <<  
AGENTATOR: <<< no offense but if theres really a laughsassin in the camp you wouldnt stand a chance against them <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< you take the sameowripper ahead and ill just go check to meowke sure theres no laughsassin ok <<<  
GUARD: ,,you SURE,,  
AGENTATOR: <<< pawsitive <<<  
GUARD: ,,oK,,  
GUARD: ,,thank you agentaTOR,,  
GUARD: ,,you are a heRO,,  
GUARD: ,,and i dont know how wed be winning without YOU,,  
AGENTATOR: <<< you wouldnt be <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< and you still arent even with meow around <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< dont think were out of the litter box yet because we arent <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< anyway ill go now <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< you take him to the elder <<<

Before the Guard can respond, the Agentator takes off into the shadows with great dexterity. The Guard is honestly relieved, but also a little terrified to be alone with the monster in front of him. A part of him honestly wonders whether it may have actually been safer going after the Laughsassin in the dark than being left here with the chained up Prisoner. Still, his duty is his duty, and this is a glorious day for the Republ1c. It’s time to finish the job.

GUARD: ,,well come on THEN,,  
GUARD: ,,lets GO,,  
MAKOTO: ...

Despite his silence, when the Guard continues walking, the Prisoner follows. This is good, but also a little concerning – he’d heard so many awful things about this troll, and yet he isn’t even making any effort to escape. Did the Agentator do something to him to make him so docile? Or does he have some sort of plan?

GUARD: ,,im watching YOU,,  
GUARD: ,,just so you KNOW,,  
GUARD: ,,dont try anyTHING,,  
MAKOTO: ...

The Guard pulls a heavy key ring out of his pocket and swipes one of the cards through the magnetic lock of the main building. The door groans, metal grinding against metal, as it slides open. The inside of the building is one big room that looks like a large warehouse filled with crates carrying stolen and scavaged weaponry and non-perishable rations. Old equipment to move the crates from building to building are scattered throughout. Parked in the center of the building is a starship big enough to hold a small crew. It isn’t safe to keep it outside where it could be easily spotted by Imperial Drones. A panel on the wall in the corner of the building could open the roof above the ship, given enough time.

The bronze Sign of the Unfledged adorns black banners on the walls. Makoto Sutrah finally looks up just enough to gaze at them for a moment, though his face remains expressionless and his eyes are hidden behind his hair. An old troll approaches them with an alien bodyguard at his side. The alien is called a Raptorite, which looks like a bipedal “Velociraptor” from “Earth” except it is purple with yellow stripes. It carries a metal pole which sparks with electricity on both ends when a button is pushed. Raptoria had been conquered by the Alternians hundreds of sweeps ago, and its offworld diaspora are usually either enslaved and hunted for sport by upperclass trolls or work as mercenaries for some degree of “freedom” throughout the galaxy.

The Elder Troll smiles at the sight of his captive. His hair is stark white, and his gray skin is deeply wrinkled. His horns seem too big for his head, weighing it down so that it appears as if he carries a great burden. Instead of armor, he wears the standard Alternian civilian wear of a black shirt bearing his personal sign – the Sign of the Connected – and gray pants. He carries in his hands a staff which he leans heavily on.

ELDER: My fr1end, where 1s the Agentator who captured th1s monster? Do not tell me you went out and did th1s all by yourself, w1thout my command?  
GUARD: ,,no elDER,,  
GUARD: ,,i cant even imaGINE,,  
GUARD: ,,we heard laughing in the CAMP,,  
GUARD: ,,and i thought it might be BEST,,to check to make sure it wasn’t anything,,DANGEROUS,,  
GUARD: ,,SIR,,  
ELDER: A w1se cho1ce, my fr1end. A w1ser cho1ce send1ng the Agentator. 1 don’t th1nk 1 need to tell you that you would l1kely stand no chance aga1nst a Laughsass1n, however much 1 bel1eve 1n your ab1l1t1es.  
GUARD: ,,no SIR,,you DONT,,  
GUARD: ,,it was their iDEA,,  
ELDER: A w1se Agentator and a powerful one. We were lucky that they came to us. And we are even luck1er now.

The Elder hobbles towards the Prisoner on his staff, and his face twists into a look of disgust.

ELDER: Do you know who 1 am, Pr1soner?  
MAKOTO: ...  
ELDER: 1 asked you a quest1on, Pr1soner.  
MAKOTO: ...  
ELDER: Strong and s1lent? 1’ve known many others l1ke you, Makoto Sutrah. All of them have fallen eventually. 1 am st1ll here. 1’ll ask you aga1n, do you know who 1 am?  
MAKOTO: nonapp barrie. pan of the republ1c of neverland. descendant of donask barrie. who fought at the side of the summoner himself. youre the leader of the rebellion.  
NONAPP: He speaks! Now, was that so hard?  
MAKOTO: yes.

With a great heave, Elder Nonapp strikes Makoto across the face with his staff, sending him to the ground. Makoto’s face does not change, and he makes no cry of pain. He simply lays on the floor motionless, staring at the Elder behind the hair in his eyes.

ELDER: You are a cheeky p1ece of sh1t, Makoto Sutrah. Taking such l1p with me. After everyth1ng you have done to th1s Republ1c...to my fr1ends...1 will enjoy pass1ng judgment upon you.  
ELDER: But f1rst, for my own cur1os1ty, 1 would like to have a mystery settled. There have been many rumors about you, Makoto Sutrah. They say that you are fusch1a-blooded, and that you are the second to bear the s1gn of the Cler1c, but that s1nce you are male, you are therefore 1nel1g1ble as he1r. They say that you have l1ved for f1ve hundred sweeps under many d1fferent names. That you were the one to k1ll The Summoner h1mself. That when Her 1mper1ous Condescens1on herself tr1ed to cull you, you defeated her, but spared her l1fe as you only des1red bloodshed and d1d not want to rule. So many rumors. 1s a s1ngle one of them true, 1 wonder?

Elder Nonapp motions for the Raptorite to approach, which flexes its big toe claw menacingly at Makoto.

NONAPP: Let’s start w1th an easy one to solve.

Nonapp, clutching his staff tightly, kneels down and pulls the hair back from Makoto’s face. At the Elder’s command, the Raptorite slowly runs the tip of its talon across Makoto’s forehead. Once again, the Samuripper shows no sign of distress, even as his blood drips across his entire face onto the cold warehouse floor. The blood is not in the least fuschia colored. On the contrary, it is very much

NONAPP: *Burgundy?*

That was a mystery that had been one hell of a mystery and many people throughout the galaxy had desperately wanted to be solved, but damn did nobody expect that to be the answer. Burgundy. The lowest blood color on the hemospectrum. The most peasant of peasants. Even lower than the Pan himself. Most of that blood color barely live to leave Alternia, let alone rise to become a legend of galactic warfare.

Before Nonapp can even process the surprise of what he has just discovered, the Agentator returns, and with them is indeed a Laughsassin. The Laughsassin isn’t physically much taller than the rest of them, but the elaborate harlequin-like headwear they wear makes them look as tall as the Raptorite. Their face is covered with a smiling theatre mask made from watsitonium, with purple swirls on the “cheeks.” They wear the standard Alternian body suit, but their blood lines are solid purple. Their hands are tied thickly with rope, and the Agentator is playing with a very PRACTICAL KNIFE.

LAUGHSASSIN: ~*hehehe oh bonjour messeurs! it iz zo wonderful to be marched right in for once! it makez my job tres facil hehehe!*~  
AGENTATOR: <<< the guard was right as you can see <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< i feownd the laughsassin hiding in the shadows, but when i catpurred them they said they'd come quietly <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< they even gave me their knife <<<  
AGENTATOR: <<< im watching them though dont worry <<<

The Agentator holds the knife up to the Laughsassin’s throat, and the Laughsassin giggles furiously behind their mask. The Guard steps back a little in noticeable terror, and the Raptorite holds out its pole to keep the Guard steady.

RAPTORITE: CREAAAGH  
GUARD: (,,youre RIGHT,,)  
GUARD: (,,i cant look scared of this GUY,,)  
RAPTORITE: creaaagh

Elder Nonapp looks from Makoto’s face to the Agentator to the Laughsassin, and then shakes his head. He leans on his staff and heaves himself up again.

NONAPP: Agentator, are you sure that th1s 1s Makoto Sutrah? Th1s troll’s blood 1s burgundy. H1s blood 1s even more rusted than ours. How could one such as h1m be so venerated w1th1n the Emp1re?  
RAPTORITE: CREAAAGH  
NONAPP: 1t 1s truly h1m? You have seen h1m before?  
RAPTORITE: creaaagh  
NONAPP: 1 see. 1 cannot bel1eve 1t. How 1s 1t poss1ble? And why? 1f you could escape cull1ng, why d1dn’t you seek us out? Why d1dn’t...?

The Pan’s look has turned from disgust to sorrow as he looks upon the wretched Samuripper before him. The Laughsassin giggles further as the Agentator leads them closer to the group. Just at that moment, something on the Agentator’s body buzzes, and they raise a finger to their ear.  
  
\-- calculatedTurbulence [CT] began buzzing amorphousClinician [AC] --

CT: -)-> Hey babe, I’m outside. You ready? -->  
AC: Yeah, just about. Let’s get this over with.  
AC: And don’t call me babe.  
CT: -)-> Whatever you say, babe. -->  
  
\-- calculatedTurbulence [CT] ceased buzzing amorphousClinician [AC] --  


NONAPP: ...What was *that*, exactly, Agentator?  
AGENTATOR: Hey, don’t worry about it. And you can call me Nakhah, I’m done with this role.  
NONAPP: What *role*?  
NAKHAH: I said don’t worry about it.

Nakhah presses a button on a fob in their hands and the handcuffs on Makoto’s wrists pop open. Makoto stands up from the ground and draws the BADASS ŌDACHI from his sylladex, swinging it around in his hands to balance himself. Nonapp looks from him, to Nakhah, to the Laughsassin, to the Raptorite, and finally to the Guard incredulously. 

NONAPP: You d1dn’t check to see 1f he st1ll had h1s sylladex?  
GUARD: ,,I,,  
GUARD: ,,i just asSUMED,,  
NONAPP: You *assumed*?  
NAKHAH: Hey, you know what happens when you assume -

Before Nakhah can finish whatever cool one-liner they were attempting to make, the door behind them creaks open again, and an arrow flies through the air and tears through the Guard’s shitty armor, impaling him right in the troll heart. He gives a single pathetic shriek as bronze blood gushes from his wound and he falls to the floor. Standing in the doorway, holding a BOW at the ready with another ARROW already knocked, is a tall troll woman with long black hair tied into a ponytail and incredibly defined muscles. Her bodysuit has indigo lines, and, perhaps stupidly, does not cover her arms or calves presumably in order to better show them off. Her muscles are pretty spectacular.

HOT TROLL LADY: -)-> Showtime. -->  
NAKHAH: That doesn’t even work with what I was leading up to, Ashvah!  
ASHVAH: -)-> Sorry babe, I didn’t hear you say anything. -->  
NAKHAH: Stop calling me babe!  


Elder Nonapp’s jaw is hanging open, and he shakes his head before turning to the Raptorite. 

NONAPP: *Well*? What are you do1ng? Go sound the alarm!  


Before the Raptorite can even react, its body is pierced over and over again by NAILS. Like, the tools that go in stuff. Thick, metal NAILS. That are being fired from A NAILGUN. By the Laughsassin. 

LAUGHSASSIN: ~*hehehe i have more weapons than my knife, mes amis! hehehe*~  
LAUGHSASSIN: ~*HEHEHE AND ZIS ONE IS ZO MUCH MORE FUN! HEHEHE*~

Again and again the Laughsassin fires nails into the Raptorite, and just as the Raptorite presses the button on its staff to electrify it and prepare to riposte, Nakhah throws the PRACTICAL KNIFE right through the side of its head, sending it onto the floor and out of the strife for good.

NAKHAH: Don’t forget this kitty has claws too!  
ASHVAH: -)-> Good one babe! -->  


The Pan looks at his fallen bodyguards in horror, and slowly begins to back away.

NONAPP: No. No. 1t can’t end l1ke th1s. 1 don’t understand. How did th1s happen? How d1d we make such a terrible m1stake?  
NAKHAH: Didn’t I say not to worry about it? You shouldn’t blame yourself. I spent almost a sweep working this job, getting to know your people, getting into character, getting you to trust me. I did a really good job with this one. I don’t usually pat myself on the back -  
ASHVAH: -)-> Actually you’re pretty much always like this -->  
NAKHAH: - but I’m gonna do it this time because, I mean, this is pretty much it for the Republ1c, right? Pan dead, this base about to be blown apart by drone ships above us. Best job ever.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Yeah, we rule! -->  
LAUGHSASSIN: ~*hehehe shall i do the honneurs, mes amis? hehehe*~  
NAKHAH: Go for it!  
MAKOTO: no.  
  
With a swing of his BADASS ŌDACHI, Makoto slices open the Pan’s stomach before swinging it back around to cut his head off. Bronze blood oozes from his neck and his stomach as his troll guts spill onto the floor.

MAKOTO: he cut me. sorry chevre.  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe all well and good, mon ami! i will simply get to kill the next one! hehehe*~  
  
Each of the rebels in the room are dead. The four of them stand around for a moment, taking in the scene, before Nakhah lifts their finger up to their ear again.

\--- amorphousClinician [AC] buzzed courageousAmphibian [CA] --  
  
AC: Mission accomplished, Captain. The Pan is dead, as is his Raptorite bodyguard.  
CA: The drone ships uuill soon be in position to take out the base – an alarm uuill sound as soon as they are nearby and some rebels uuill evacuate in time, but you’ve made certain that none of them uuill be the Pan. The plan uuorked. Good job, Espionforcer. I applaud your efforts.  
AC: Thank you, Captain.  
CT: -)-> Hey! Tell the Captain about the cool thing I did! -->  
AC: No.  
CT: -)-> >:( -->  
CA: Do you have a proper plan of escape, Espionforcer?  
  
Nakhah looks around the room. They had taken out the gate guard and it was obviously pretty easy to get in and out given that Ashvah clearly just hopped the fence after there was nobody guarding it anymore, so an escape wouldn’t be too hard. But this had been a pretty awesome mission, and Nakhah is in the mood for a dramatic escape. Their olive eyes glance around the warehouse, flicking between the starship in the center of the room and the panel on the wall.

AC: Yes, I think so. I’m going to hijack the Rebels’ ship and have Chevre fly it directly to The Eleventh Hour. No need for a rendezvous shuttle. Don’t open fire on us, ok Captain?  
CA: Understood. May the Messiahs favor you, Espionforcer.  


\--- amorphousClinician [AC] ceased buzzing courageousAmphibian [CA] –

NAKHAH: Alright, everyone hear that?  
ASHVAH: -)-> You bet! -->  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe oh boy! I am zo excited to fly ze ship! hehehe~*  
MAKOTO: hey chevre can you check the pan and the raptorites bodies. see if either of them has the ignition key for the ship. ill get to work on the panel.  


Makoto takes a quick glance over the panel in the corner of the room and scoffs.

MAKOTO: this is the shittiest fucking tech.  
MAKOTO: hey ashvah. go block the door.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Why? -->  
MAKOTO: ...  
MAKOTO: because its gonna be fucking loud.  
MAKOTO: and people are going to notice.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Oh right! Sure. -->  


As if it takes no effort at all, Ashvah pushes one of the massive metal crates in the warehouse in front of the door.

MAKOTO: ...  
MAKOTO: you could have just.  
MAKOTO: you know what.  
MAKOTO: nevermind.  
  
Makoto presses two buttons on the wall panel and, with an extremely loud shriek of metal grinding, the rusted roof above the ship slowly begins to open. Footsteps can be heard outside of the door and rebels begin to bang on the door, screaming and shouting for someone inside to explain what’s going on.

ASHVAH: -)-> Don’t worry about it, pals! We’re just stealing your ship for the Empire! -->  
NAKHAH: Ashvah! Don’t tell them that! They can climb onto the roof and get in that way, you know!  
ASHVAH: -)-> Oh right, shit! Sorry babe. Uh, ignore that last thing I said! We’re just opening the roof to get some fresh air! No big deal! The Pan is definitely not spilling his guts all over the floor right now! That isn’t happening at all! -->  
  
The Rebels outside continue to bang against the door, more fervently now, but there is definitely also the sound of scurrying against the wall, as if some aliens with sticky hands are starting to climb up onto the roof.

NAKHAH: ...you’re really lucky you’ve got those muscles, Ashvah.  
ASHVAH: -)-> I know, right! They’re great! >:D -->  
  
Three aliens called Arachnatori fall from the gap in the roof. They have bipedal bodies, eight eyes, literally spiky black hair, and sticky hands and feet. They pull SHITTY SALVAGED SWORDS from their sylladexes, and charge at the Alternians.

MAKOTO: chevre. did you find the ignition key.  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe oh yes indeed, mon ami! hehehe*~  
MAKOTO: ok. go on the ship and get it started.  
MAKOTO: well go ahead and fucking kill these guys i guess.  


Makoto, Nakhah, and Ashvah prepare to strife with the Arachnatori as Chevre hops aboard the ship. The giggling laughsassin swipes the card they took from the body of the raptorite through the magnetic lock on the door, and dances onto the ship. When Chevre was but a little troll growing up on Alternia in the hive of their lusus, they studied all sorts of astronautics, hoping to one day be a great pilot. Unfortunately, they were often reminded by those at Clown Church and later in adulthood that their blood caste was too high to be a simple pilot. That didn’t stop them from practicing, though, and they consider themself to be a pretty fine one – if not the greatest one they had hoped to be long ago. They sashay over to the captain’s chair and once more swipe the card from before to get the engine started.

Outside, the engine roars, and the Arachnatori fight with even more passion now that the fear has settled in that these assassins might get away. They don’t stand much of a chance, however, as Ashvah punches a hole through one of their chests, Makoto decapitates the other, and Nakhah wrestles a third to the ground in time for Makoto to swing around and clear its head as well.

\--- ticklishCosmos [TC] opened group chat for ~*HEHEHE MES AMIS HEHEHE*~ \---  


TC: ~*hehehe Bonjour mes amis! Ze ship is all ready to go when you are! hehehe*~  
AC: Ok. Let’s get out of here. Captain, do you copy?  
  
\--- courageousAmphibian [CA] has entered the chat ---  


CA: I am here, Espionforcer.  
AC: Get the drones in position, sir. We could use some alarms right about now.  
CA: Understood.  
  
The three climb aboard the starship, and it ascends through the roof with only the tiniest bit of creaking and groaning. It’s surprisingly not that bad of a ship, for what they have come to expect from these rebels. However, that opinion changes pretty quickly as some rebels on the roof of the building begin opening fire with their SHITTY ANTI-SPACECRAFT RIFLES, which actually do some damage to the hull of the starship.

CT: -)-> Uh, hey babe? This reader says we’re actually taking some damage from their shitty anti-spacecraft rifles! -->  
AC: Yes, Ashvah, I see that! Captain, are you still there? We can really use some drones!  
CA: En route as uue speak.  
TC: ~*hehehe now you are speaking my language! hehehe*~  
  
Alarm bells begin to ring out throughout the camp, and some of the rebels begin to drop their weapons and run. Enough stay behind and try to make a last stand shooting at the hull of the ship, hoping to bring down the assassins who had killed their beloved Pan with their last moments alive.

AC: Are there any weapons on this ship? Makoto, do you copy?  
  
\--- antinomianAscetic [AA] has entered the group chat ---  
  
AA: im looking right now. i think theres a shitty cannon.  
AC: Is there anything these rebels have that isn’t shitty?  
AA: not that ive seen. you spent more time with them.  
AC: It was more of a rhetorical question!  
AC: Well? Can you get the shitty cannon working?  
AA: yes hold on.  
  
The cannon on the bottom of the ship springs to life and begins to fire below. The brave rebels are blasted apart, their rifles thrown from their hands and the building beneath them crumbling in.  
  
CA: Are you ready, Espionforcer?  
AC: Yes, sir!  
CT: -)-> All right! Time for the fireworks show! -->  
TC: ~*hehehe oh what fun! hehehe*~  
  
\--- ticklishCosmos [TC] closed group chat for ~*HEHEHE MES AMIS HEHEHE*~ \---  


The drones finally close in on the rebel base and begin to fire their missiles, utterly annihilating everything and everyone left behind. A massive cloud of smoke and dust rises into the sky, and the great fire shines beautifully against the backdrop of the Planet above in the night sky. The explosions are the opening words of a beautiful sonnet crafted in loving gratitude to Order and Empire. It is a sonnet that begins with splendid chaos, rises into confusion, falls into strife, builds to unity, and ultimately falls in line. All who rise against their betters will fall in time, and all who spill their blood for them will be rewarded. This is the promise that the sonnet offers, and it is glorious, and it is comforting, and it is correct.  
  
Or is it?  
  
“Ah, my dear lord, untrain'd in war!  
O tempt not the infuriate mood  
Of that fell lion I see! from far  
He plunges through a tide of blood!”  
-Troll Alex Trebek

[END SCENE]


	2. Act I Scene II

_ SCENE II. The Eleventh Hour, battleship of the Vanguard of Her Imperious Condescension’s Eleventh Fleet, captained by the lauded MARIUS PATERA, a young and ambitious SEA DWELLER. With the mission on Thatone’s moon successful, the Republ1c of Neverland has been crushed, and after many months of dangerous work, the Vanguard is able to be at ease. _

Makoto Sutrah stands in the medical bay of the Eleventh Hour. Thick dark burgundy-colored blood drips unnaturally slowly from the wound on his head. Since receiving the injury, he has spent hours fighting the rebellion, reaching the ship, and reporting to the captain alongside his squadmates. Yet still he stands no worse for wear. He has experienced much, much worse than a mere head wound. He presses a button on the control panel of one of the sweet sci-fi healing tanks in the room, and a selection of colors appears on a screen. He selects the color closest to his own blood, and the tank begins to fill with a slimy substance. 

Makoto undoes the sash around his waist bearing his sign - The Sign of the Headstrong - and slides out of his battle garment. The core of the clothing is light fabric, but it is interwoven with watsitonium threading so that it serves as some protection from assault. It doesn’t matter though. The goal for Makoto Sutrah has never been to take the blow. It’s to never get hit. The samuripper never gets hit. 

His nude body is covered in many grisly scars - the rust and light-gray colored marks mar his dark grey skin. Yet it cannot be said to be unattractive. His body is as much a weapon as anything he carries in his strife specibus. His muscles are as hard and strong as iron beaten and shaped with care and attention. His face is kind with a youthful gentleness. He takes a deep breath, and goes to step inside of the tank.

He stops. His eyes flit to the side and his head turns to look at the troll behind him.

MAKOTO: nakhah you need to stop sneaking up on me. use the fucking door so i can hear you come in.  
NAKHAH: I’m not “sneaking up on you” and I resent that implication. We both know that you’re more than capable of detecting any kind of ambush, and that I’m not the kind of person who uses doors if I can help it.  
MAKOTO: maybe you should start.  
NAKHAH: Please don’t make this a thing.  
MAKOTO: asking you to not sneak up on me is a thing now.  
NAKHAH: Yes! How long have we worked together?  
MAKOTO: and how long have i told you not to sneak up on me.  
NAKHAH: Ugh…

There is silence. Makoto certainly doesn’t break it. Nakhah Bastet, the espionforcer, approaches their comrade-in-arms slowly but not cautiously. Despite the argument, there is clearly a respect in their gestures. These two have known each other for a long time, and there is a trust between them. Nakhah knows that Makoto will not harm them, but that doesn’t mean that they want to taunt them either.

NAKHAH: You’re not really going to use that, are you?  
MAKOTO: please dont.  
NAKHAH: I can heal you.  
MAKOTO: and so can this tank.  
NAKHAH: I can do it faster. And better.  
MAKOTO: i doubt that.  
NAKHAH: You’ve seen me do it before. And I can do it extra fast since I do have access to some tech in here.  
MAKOTO: just go nakhah. you arent injured and you dont need to act like this with me.

Nakhah scowls. It’s true that they aren’t injured at all - the mission had been a success and with the exception of a brief scuffle at the end there wasn’t much opportunity for serious wounds. Nakhah’s skin tight black armor glows with a soft green light from the lines of energy that course through it. There’s another moment of silence between them. Nakhah does not get any closer.

NAKHAH: Why are you like this?  
MAKOTO: why am i like this. me. youre the one desperate for a moirail and looking to the worst person possible for any kind of conciliatory quadrant.  
MAKOTO: or any quadrant for that matter.

Nakhah says nothing. The espionforcer’s poker face only breaks when they deem it permissible. This is absolutely not a permissible moment.

NAKHAH: It’s not like that.  
MAKOTO: sure.  
NAKHAH: Forget it. I just wanted to help you because you really did us a solid on the mission today and it looked like something I could patch up really quickly.  
NAKHAH: But fine. Use the tank. Be alone. Have fun.  
MAKOTO: …

Makoto steps into the tank, which is now almost full of thick ooze. He puts a breathing apparatus on and closes it behind him, allowing the tank to fill the rest of the way up. He closes his eyes and rests, allowing the healing slime to disinfect and knit his wounds as he quietly meditates.

Nakhah watches him inside of the tank for a few more minutes. They have served in the Legion together for four sweeps, and the same division for two, and yet Makoto Sutrah remains the one enigma that Nakhah simply can’t crack. His actions and choices all seem to be meaningless, and he always behaves as if he welcomes death, but he still fights on as hard as he possibly can. The fact that he never lets anyone, especially the espionforcer, get close enough to him to really understand only makes it all the more infuriating.

Well, almost everyone. He does make one exception. It isn’t Nakhah, though.

The espionforcer finally turns and leaves the medical bay. The Messiahs know that stewing over a man’s emotional distance is an extremely unproductive use of time. It has been months since Nakhah has been given any free time to actually be the person they actually are and not a put on role, and it’s always a little uncomfortable figuring out the things that they liked to do and the person they used to be after being someone else for such an extended time. Perhaps Makoto isn’t completely wrong. A soak in the ablution trap might be nice. Perhaps a nice book to go with it, or the movie of a book?

ASHVAH: -)-> Hey babe! What’s up? -->

Oh.

NAKHAH: Hello Ashvah.  
ASHVAH: -)-> What are you doing outside the medical bay? Did you get hurt? Lemme see where it hurts, maybe I might be able to patch it up. Oh what am I saying! You obviously already patched it up. That’s your thing! That’s still your thing, right? -->

There is a pause. As beautiful as Ashvah constantly is with her stunning eyes, elegant facial structure, thick black hair, and absolutely divine muscles, _ she _ looks like she could use a soak in the ablutiontrap. Beads of sweat drip from her forehead, forearms, and calves, all pointlessly exposed likely for the sake of her own vanity.

ASHVAH: -)-> ...right? Babe? Still your thing? -->  
NAKHAH: How many times do I have to tell you _ not _ to call me “babe” before you finally listen to me?  
ASHVAH: -)-> I just...I’m just trying to have fun with you. -->  
NAKHAH: Yes well, maybe I don’t want to have fun! We’re imperial agents! We’re the Vanguard of the Eleventh Fleet! We do extremely crucial work. I can’t just...just…

So maybe there is one person who is an exception to Nakhah’s ability to always keep their poker face intact.

NAKHAH: Just stop!  
ASHVAH: -)-> All right. I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave you alone? -->  
NAKHAH: Maybe.

She pauses. There’s a moment of silence as Nakhah’s stern olive eyes stare into Ashvah’s pleading indigo ones.

NAKHAH: No, it’s fine. You can stay. Just...I need to take an ablution. Do you want to come?  
ASHVAH: -)-> You’re offering? -->  
NAKHAH: I don’t want to be rude, but…

Nakhah looks Ashvah up and down. Ashvah laughs and smells her armpit. She scrunches up her nose comedically. Nakhah does not react at all.

ASHVAH: -)-> Yeah sure, I get it, I’m gross. You can tell me, Nakhah, it’s not going to break my heart! -->  
NAKHAH: Perhaps a little shame might do you some good sometimes.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Ouch, hahaha! -->

Once again, Nakhah does not react at all. They motion for Ashvah to follow them towards their quarters on the ship.

NAKHAH: ...I was also thinking of reading a book, but we could watch a movie instead. It’s been a while since I’ve seen anything other than _ The One Where The Two Moirails Open The Hotel For Stray Meowcats And Give Them Each Their Own Room, But Goldbloods Try And Sneak In And Squat So They Call The Drones, But There Aren’t Any Drones Available So The Meowcats Have To Become Drones Instead And Wear Cute Drone Costumes To Scare Off The Invaders. _For research. I must have seen it a thousand times. Cat puns are more difficult than you think.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Oh yeah, isn’t that loosely based off of _ Meowcat Hotel _ ? -->  
NAKHAH: Yes, loosely, but doesn’t every work of fiction take influence from something as ancient as _ Meowcat Hotel _ ?  
ASHVAH: -)-> That’s fair. -->

Two other Alternian soldiers, dressed head to toe in watsitonium armor, nod to Nakhah and Ashvah as they pass. Nakhah waves back. Ashvah throws her arms around them and pulls them into a group hug. She asks if she can get a selfie with the three of them all together. The soldiers look to the espionforcer, who shrugs. They happily agree, excited for the opportunity to be seen on chittr and grubbook with an archeradicator of Ashvah’s reputation and caliber. Despite only being thirteen sweeps old, which is basically still a wiggler for an indigo blood, she has built up quite a reputation in the fleet as an extraordinary deadeye. 

No one in Her Imperious Condescension’s Eleventh Fleet can match Ashvah Rostam in an archery contest. She is simply the best there is.

Ashvah snaps a picture of herself between the two Alternian soldiers on her palmhusk and tells the two to keep up the good work. She turns back to Nakhah, who has been standing there patiently with their usual stony expression.

ASHVAH: -)-> Do you even own a palmhusk? I never see you on it. -->  
NAKHAH: It’s a danger for me to own a palmhusk. It’s also a danger for me to have a personal chittr account, or a grubbook page. I’m no one, remember? Only my roles can have social media.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Ah, yeah. That makes sense… -->

The panel outside of Nakhah’s quarters scans their retina. Alternian words greet the espionforcer, and the shiny lines on the door glow green before sliding open. Their respiteblock is incredibly sparse. There is a simple recuperacoon in the corner, a telescreen on the far wall, and a panel to change the channel or select films. A few books lay messily in the corner. There is no furniture. Not even a place to sit.

Nakhah Bastet can play any role, but the true troll who plays them sometimes doesn’t particularly feel like a person with any character at all. Ashvah squeals.

ASHVAH: -)-> You still have Launcelot! I thought you got rid of him ages ago! -->

Ashvah is referring to a stuffed musclebeast plush that Ashvah made for Nakhah when they were young. He looks a little worse for wear for all the sweeps he’s followed Nakhah on campaign, but he’s still a funky little centaur with a big hanging udder you can rest your head on for maximum comfort.

NAKHAH: Yeah, I usually get rid of personal stuff for roles but what can I say?  
NAKHAH: Sometimes I can’t sleep unless my head is resting in his swollen musclebeast bosom.  
ASHVAH: -)-> You don’t have to tell me twice! -->

Ashvah seems over the moon about seeing this little toy again. Nakhah shakes their head and then walks towards the ablutiontrap, unzipping their battle garment as they go. Ashvah turns and looks at Nakhah and her face turns almost completely indigo. 

ASHVAH: -)-> Oh, uh, are we doing this now? -->  
NAKHAH: Taking an ablution? Yes. Why?  
ASHVAH: -)-> Oh, um, because...yeah. -->  
NAKHAH: You can go after me if you’re not comfortable taking one with me anymore.  
NAKHAH: Considering.

Ashvah nods.

ASHVAH: -)-> Considering. -->

The two of them are quiet. Nakhah’s battle garment is only half removed, though their bony bare shoulders and the tops of their rumble spheres are visible. Ashvah is staring, though she keeps blinking as if to make it seem like she’s not doing so. The attention is flattering, especially when it comes from someone like Ashvah, but flattering doesn’t always mean comfortable. Especially, well….

_Considering._

NAKHAH: Really. I can just go and you can go after me. We can still watch the movie. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed we could do this. I…  
ASHVAH: -)-> Yeah. Yeah! Let’s just do it! We’re pals! We were pale for SWEEPS, Nakhah! Pale as can BE! CONCILIATORY as you can GET! Haha! No reason we can’t just TAKE AN ABLUTION together and shoosh pap each other’s rumble spheres like the palest of pale pals! -->  
NAKHAH: Moirails don’t usually shoosh pap each other’s rumble spheres, Ashvah.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Haha! Right! Yeah! Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. I didn’t… -->

Nakhah gives Ashvah a stern look. The woman sighs and looks away.

ASHVAH: -)-> Do you regret it? -->  
NAKHAH: Every day.

Ashvah winces hard.

ASHVAH: -)-> Okay. I’m sorry. -->  
NAKHAH: I just...I want you back, Ashvah, I really do, I just want you back in the way we used to be. When we could trust each other. When I didn’t feel like every second you were staring at my -  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe BONSOIR mes amis! pardon for my intrusion upon zis touching moment! hehehe*~

Chevre bounces on the balls of their feet, giggling madly behind their mask. How did they get in here again? Nakhah scowls. They’re supposed to be the one who does the sneaking thing, not the highblood clown.

NAKHAH: What is it, Chevre?  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe ze captain wishes to see all of us in one hour! he has zent me to make sure zat we four shall be in attendance! hehehe*~  
NAKHAH: Okay fine.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Thanks Chevre! You’re awesome! Hey, we were going to take an ablution, do you want to join in??? -->

Chevre stops bouncing. Their eyes, hidden behind purple watsitonium glass, look from Ashvah to Nakhah. Nakhah stares at Ashvah in confusion. Their battle garment is still half removed. Chevre does not seem to give this any attention.

CHEVRE: ~*hehehe merci for ze offer, ma cherie, but you know ze Laughsassin never reveals their face...except to matesprits hehehe*~

Their voice deepens.

CHEVRE: ~*hehehe or kizmezes hehehe*~  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe is zat us, ashvah? nakhah? are you my matesprit and kizmezis now? hehehe*~  
ASHVAH: -)-> … -->  
NAKHAH: …

There is an eerie silence in the room. Almost too silent. Like the only sound in the depths of space is the breathing of the three trolls.

ASHVAH: -)-> Ah nah! That’s okay! Sorry if I was coming across as flushed or caliginous! Didn’t mean it one bit! Just offering a nice clean! As squadmates! Haha! -->

Chevre’s voice returns to normal. The ambient sounds of the ship return in force.

CHEVRE: ~*hehehe I thought zo! zee you in an hour! hehehe*~

Chevre goes into a handstand and crawls away. The remaining two trolls stand in silence.

ASHVAH: -)-> Yeah maybe you should just go ahead and take that ablution by yourself. I’ll head back to my quarters and we’ll meet up on the bridge in an hour. -->  
NAKHAH: Sounds great.

As Ashvah is leaving, she takes one last glance at Nakhah, who fully removes their battle garment, throws it aside, and enters the ablutiontrap. She smiles sadly, and then heads off to clean herself up before the audience with Captain Patera.


	3. Act I Scene III

_SCENE III. The Bridge of the Eleventh Hour, battleship of the Vanguard of Her Imperious Condescension’s Eleventh Fleet. The four members of the Vanguard are assembled here with the rest of the ship’s crew, awaiting orders from their commanding officer. _

When Captain Marius Patera speaks, the entire crew stands at attention. It isn’t just respect or discipline which commands the obedience of The Eleventh Hour. The Captain is kind in a way that most Alternian officers are not while still possessing a firm enough hand to keep a battleship full of trolls in line. Many would say it is simply next to impossible not to be drawn into the seemingly bottomless well of charisma the young seadweller possesses. Most of the time they would be right. Ashvah Rostam, however, has never particularly liked him much.

She still doesn’t like him very much.

It’s not that she doesn’t do what he asks, or that she doesn’t understand his position of authority over her. It’s more that seadwellers and the highbloods of the land never particularly got along on Alternia. She knew that she had lived a better life on her home planet than a lot of other trolls did by dint of her higher caste, but the seadwellers had always made a habit of treating trolls like her like shit. The bad ones always relished being bad, and the good ones were usually just being manipulative. The fact that Marius actually seems like a genuinely good person – a rarity among trolls in general – just gives her all the more reason to be suspicious.

It really doesn’t help that Nakhah always looks at him in the way Ashvah wishes they’d look at her. They’re doing it right now, as the four members of the Vanguard stand at attention.

Ashvah looks away from Nakhah to her other two squadmates. Makoto’s head wound is fully healed now, and he looks none the worse for it. Good for him. Chevre is doing their thing where they seem completely incapable of sitting still even while being briefed. The clown is a hard nut to crack – it’s never abundantly clear whether or not they’re a hyperactive goofball as a religious performance or if it’s actually their true self. Ashvah’s never asked, and she probably never will.

MARIUS: Thank you for arriving on such short notice, Vanguard.

Oh right. The Captain.

Marius Patera has the facial fins and gills of the seadweller race, long and straight hair that is black on one side and the violet color of his blood on the other, and is garbed in the skin tight watsitonium armor of the legion. He wears a half-cape over the right side of his body, and leans heavily on a bejeweled cane covered with amethysts with his left arm. Both the lines running through his armor and the half cape are in his blood color. He’s incredibly handsome, Ashvah concedes.

MARIUS: Espionforcer Bastet, Archeradicator Rostam, and of course, you, Samuripper....

Nakhah probably thinks nobody notices the way they light up when Captain Marius Patera says their name. Ashvah’s known them long enough to see it, though. They might be an incredible actor to people who haven’t known them long, but once you learn to see through the poker face you can read them like a book. Ashvah forgets to nod when the Captain addresses her, so caught up is she in watching Nakhah. She needs to focus. The incident in Nakhah’s respiteblock was only an hour ago, though, and it weighs heavily on her mind.

MARIUS: You as well, Laughsassin Tarask.

Chevre giggles.

CHEVRE: ~*hehehe oh captain merci! merci! i am always happy to serve alternia! hehehe*~

It’s always awkward between Chevre and the Captain. The relationship between Ashvah’s caste and the seadwellers can be violent enough, but the class tension between the religious caste of the purple bloods and the royal caste of the violet bloods has always been the highest on Alternia. These two seem to get along well enough, but there’s always that feeling that something’s off between them. Everyone is lucky that it has yet to affect their jobs.

MARIUS: The Empire ouues all of you a great debt. I have reported to Caegar Sithis Vibius, tetrarch of this galactic quadrant, and let him knouu just uuhat has been done today. I believe that it is not out of the question that uue may even be granted an audience uuith Her Imperious Condescension herself!

A gasp runs through the bridge.

MARIUS: It uuould be quite the honor, yes.

That isn’t why the room has suddenly hushed, however.

Behind the Captain, an ancient seadweller is watching from a large monitor. His hair is long and white and his face is puckered and wrinkled. His facial fins are as wide as his shoulders. His smile is genuine but cold. There is no joy behind the smile – only satisfaction.

ANCIENT SEADWELLER: normally you may be charrect captain.

The Captain freezes as he hears the voice, and then immediately turns to bend his knee before the old troll. The rest of the crew on the bridge follow suit, including the Vanguard. Ashvah keeps her eyes up on the monitor even as she’s bowed. She can’t help but feel extremely curious about this new development. She knows that Nakhah is going to keep their eyes on the floor like a good soldier, and probably Makoto will too, but she’ll be damned if Chevre isn’t going to – yep, there they go, singing some ditty to themself while bouncing on their knee as if stretching. Clowns.

MARIUS: My Lord Vibius! It is an honor to speak to you, sir.  
VIBIUS: indeed it is  
VIBIUS: an honor for you i mean  
VIBIUS: to speak Whiff me  
VIBIUS: minnoW to minnoW  
VIBIUS: though it seems you’re angling for a bigger catch than this old trout 

Ashvah forgot just how much most seadwellers loved to remind everyone they spoke to that they are nautically themed. The Captain has never said a fish pun in all the sweeps Ashvah has served under him, much to his credit. There’s no way in hell an old and dangerous seadweller like this one isn’t going to milk them for all they are worth, however. The most annoying part about the fish puns is that you have to act like they are the most clever bits of wordplay imaginable because trolls as powerful as the seadwellers have a habit of culling any troll for the slightest thing. They have extremely little respect for any form of life.

MARIUS: It is a great honor to speak to you, sir, but you and I both knouu that there is no higher honor than to be granted an audience with Her Imperious Condescension.  
VIBIUS: i do i do buoy  
VIBIUS: do you sink you deserve it though  
VIBIUS: to speak With the most fabulous bitch in the cod damn galaxy  
VIBIUS: all cause you culled some old bull trout Who thought he Was king salmon

Ashvah’s brows knit. Really? She thinks to herself. All of that hard and dangerous work they did for months on end, and this Caegar Vibius was going to play it off like it was nothing? She supposes she can’t expect much more out of seadwellers. When they do something even remotely difficult it’s the best thing ever done, and when anyone else does something extremely difficult, then suddenly they could have done it in their sleep. Chevre finishes their little song and bursts into a fit of laughter as if it was all some funny joke.

VIBIUS: you do dont you  
VIBIUS: you think you top dogfish noW buoy  
VIBIUS: dont you  
MARIUS: Sir, if I did not deserve respect and congratulations for my achievement, uuould I be speaking to one of the tetrarchs right nouu on the bridge of my ouun ship?

Oh shit. That’s a gamble. The Captain smiles confidently. Ashvah hopes that confidence doesn’t get them all culled.

Caegar Vibius chuckles.

VIBIUS: heh  
VIBIUS: yeah you aint Wrong  
VIBIUS: good catch guppy  
VIBIUS: im just clampin your bulge cause young seadWellers usually got a thing for thinking theyre tuna When theyre just an anchovy  
VIBIUS: sometimes they need a bigger fish to scare em back off into their little pond  
VIBIUS: remind em Whose boss  
VIBIUS: or just eat em you knoW What im sayin ha ha  
VIBIUS: but the empire oWes you kid  
VIBIUS: unfortunately you aint gonna meet the queen triggerfish  
VIBIUS: it aint nothin personal  
VIBIUS: shes a busy Woman  
VIBIUS: but i got something almost as good  
MARIUS: Uuhat is that, my Lord?

Ashvah notices Nakhah look up. Curiosity is written all over their face.

VIBIUS: yall are gonna meet me and the other tetrarchs  
VIBIUS: me and the homies are all swimmin down to faraWay for a council and yall invited  
VIBIUS: gonna get some medals and shit itll be dope  
VIBIUS: sound good to you  
MARIUS: I -  
VIBIUS: that Wasnt reely a question kid of course it sounds good to you  
MARIUS: Yes, of course, my Lord, to be present before the Tetrarchs of our galaxy is one of the greatest honors anyone in the Empire could expect, it’s just that...

The Captain’s face flushes just the tiniest bit violet.

MARIUS: I’ve never heard of Farauuay, my Lord.  
VIBIUS: nah you Wouldnt have its a secret planet nobody knoWs about it  
VIBIUS: gotta keep some secrets you knoW especially if We all gonna be together  
MARIUS: And...uuhat if someone is listening in on this call, my Lord?

Caegar Vibius laughs darkly.

VIBIUS: if somebubbly hacked into your comms guppy then you dont really deserve to get that medal knoW What im sayin  
VIBIUS: im sendin you the coordinates right noW ill see you soon suckerfish  
VIBIUS: vibius out

The monitor turns off. The bridge is silent for almost a full minute. Despite all of the usual poking and prodding that seadwellers can’t ever seem to not do, it does seem that Caegar Vibius was impressed with them! Impressed enough to call them all to a council meeting on some secret planet reserved for the highest officials in the Empire!

ASHVAH: -)-> Hey! That’s pretty cool, right? Medals from the Tetrarchs! We’re awesome! Right? -->

She’s greeted with more silence.

ASHVAH: -)-> ...Right? Guys? -->

The Captain turns around. Ashvah frowns sympathetically. Despite her reservations towards the Captain, she can’t help but feel just the tiniest bit empathetic when she sees how utterly exhausted he looks. What he just faced – even if it had a happy ending – must have been incredibly tough. What Ashvah has had to deal with when it comes to dealing with seadwellers must be a thousand times worse when you _are_ a seadweller dealing with older seadwellers. Always a bigger fish, right?

MARIUS: It is very good!

Ashvah smiles again. The Captain smiles back appreciatively.

MARIUS: Uuell done everyone. I couldn’t be prouder of the uuork that uue’ve done together, and now it is time to receive our just reuuards! The Rebellion is crushed! The Empire is triumphant! Hail Her Imperious Condescension! Hail Alternia!  
  
The silence breaks with a rowdy cheer and trolls punching their fists in the air whooping and hollering. Hail Alternia! They cry out together. Hail Her Imperious Condescension!

A few shout. Ashvah smiles wider and punches her fist into the air as well.

CHEVRE: ~*hehehe oh yes! can i get a “whoop whoop” mes amis? hehehe*~  
ASHVAH: -)-> Whoop whoop! -->  
NAKHAH: ...whoop whoop.  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe oh nakhah mon ami you can do zo much better zan zat!*~  
ASHVAH: -)-> Yeah! Come on Nakhah! Get into it! -->

Nakhah smiles. Ashvah thinks that it may actually be a real one.

NAKHAH: Fine. Whoop Whoop!!!!!  
ASHVAH: Yeah!  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe excellent mon cher! hehehe*~

Makoto says nothing. Chevre either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t push him.

One of the bridge crew alerts the Captain that they have received the coordinates from the tetrarch’s office on the location of Faraway. The Captain gives the crew the go ahead to set a course as soon as possible. Then another member of the crew points something out on the radar.

It’s only there for a moment and then it’s gone. An object the size of a battleship several hundred kilometers long.

MARIUS: Uuhat uuas that?  
MAKOTO: it must be using a cloaking device.  
MARIUS: That’s impossible. A cloaking device uuouldn’t be capable of obscuring something that big. The technology just doesn’t exist.

Makoto doesn’t respond. The samuripper goes down to where The Eleventh Hour’s sensory equipment is stored on the bridge and pushes aside the operator to start typing something in.

ASHVAH: -)-> Wait, Makoto, what are you doing? -->  
NAKHAH: Shush, Ashvah. Let him work.  
MAKOTO: the tech does exist. just because it isn’t in mass production doesnt mean somebody isnt using it. it probably appeared on the radar for a moment because of the flaws in prototypes.

He taps away at the computer hurriedly for a moment and then takes a step back.

MAKOTO: fuck.  
MARIUS: Report, Samuripper.  
MAKOTO: our ship’s sensory equipment isnt equipped for this sort of thing. we dont have enough goldbloods in our engine to reveal a several kilometer long ship. but maybe we might be able to just uncloak enough to see where its headed if we get closer.

Makoto turns to one of the crew and asks if they can fly the battleship closer to where the blip appeared. A crewman nods and begins to steer The Eleventh Hour towards it. The samuripper’s eyes flit between the radar and the depths of space visible beyond the bridge window. Chevre has since bounced down to where Makoto is standing and is watching over his shoulder. Ashvah and Nakhah remain by the Captain’s chair where Marius has taken a seat. All three have their eyes glued to the window.

Then it happens. Makoto didn’t even need to set whatever he was planning into motion – right in front of their eyes is the biggest battleship they have ever seen, carrying an enormous cannon the size of an Alternian city. The crew whispers among themselves.

MAKOTO: shit. the blip wasnt a mistake.  
MARIUS: They uuanted us to get closer.  
MAKOTO: fuck.  
ASHVAH: -)-> So they’re bad guys? Are they Rebels or Alfheim? -->  
NAKHAH: If they were rebels, I would have heard about this before now.  
MAKOTO: plus the rebels had nothing but shitty tech. this has to be alfheim.  
MARIUS: The Alfheim Federation can’t build anything uuithout telling the entire galaxy uuho made it. They wouldn’t make anything like this.  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe must be none of ze above zen! hehehe*~  
MAKOTO: you might be right chevre.

A message appears on the monitor that Caegar Vibius had been on minutes prior. The script is Alternian. Written on the screen are the words:

MAKOTO: we should get the shields up now.  
MARIUS: Uuhat?  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe get ze shields up or we shall all perish mon capitan! hehehe*~  
MARIUS: Right auuay. Get the shields up now!

The city-sized cannon loaded onto the other ship fires an enormous laser beam which cuts through the shield of The Eleventh Hour with ease, severing a wing and taking out half of its engine. The bridge shakes, throwing Ashvah off-balance. Nakhah, ever steady, holds onto her and keeps her from falling over. The Captain holds onto his chair to keep himself stable.

MARIUS: Anyone injured?  
MAKOTO: were all good down here. but we werent the intended target.  
MARIUS: Uue uueren’t? Uuhat do you mean?  
MAKOTO: look.

The laser beam has cut through the core of Theotherone – the moon they had only just reconquered. The surface of the body cracks with glowing light, and, in an act that could only happen in a science fiction story like this one, it explodes. The aftershock from the explosion hurls The Eleventh Hour away from the massive battleship and debris pummel at its shields.

CHEVRE: ~*hehehe sacre pourpre! hehehe*~  
MAKOTO: fuck.  
ASHVAH: -)-> Did they just blow up the fucking moon? -->  
NAKHAH: Yes, Ashvah. They just blew up the fucking moon.  
MARIUS: Uue must keep it together! Uue just lost a wing and half the engine – we need to get to Thatone as fast as possible!  
MAKOTO: what if they blow that up next.  
MARIUS: Uuhat?  
CHEVRE: ~*hehehe makoto asked “what if zey blow zat up next?” hehehe*~  
MARIUS: I....

The Captain’s eyes look toward the massive ship which takes up the entirety of the bridge window.

MARIUS: Uue just have to take that chance. Uue can’t use any gates uuhile the ship is in this condition. Direct the ship to the planet’s surface!

The ship begins to turn towards the planet and flies towards it. With half their engine – and half their goldbloods – obliterated, the Eleventh Hour barely has enough momentum to push itself out of orbit and back into the planet’s atmosphere. The amount of energy going into keeping the shields active – which remains incredibly necessary given the chunks of moon currently slamming against it – doesn’t help. The cannon fires again, barely missing the ship and obliterating more debris.

NAKHAH: This isn’t working, Captain. We’ll be blown apart before we get anywhere near Thatone.  
MARIUS: Uuhat do you propose, Espionforcer?

Ashvah notices Nakhah’s little smile even if nobody else does.

NAKHAH: The ship we stole from the rebels is still in the hangar. We’ll have to leave our tech, but we can probably fit most of the crew on the ship, and the remainders will have to take escape pods.

The Captain thinks over what Nakhah suggests, and nods.

MARIUS: Very uuell. I uuill go with the remaining creuu on the escape pods. Chevre, can you fly the ship?

Chevre’s face turns to look at Marius. There’s a moment of tense silence between them.

CHEVRE: ~*hehehe yes yes mon capitan! I would love nothing more zan to fly ze ship! hehehe*~  
MAKOTO: i will go with chevre.  
MARIUS: Very uuell.

Nakhah puts their hand on the Captain’s shoulder.

NAKHAH: I’m coming with you, Captain.

Marius puts his hand on theirs and nods.

MARIUS: Thank you, Espionforcer. You are very brave.

Ashvah raises her hand awkwardly.

ASHVAH: -)-> Uh...yeah! I’m coming on the escape pods too! Chevre will be all right with Makoto with him! -->

Marius divides the remaining crew into those coming with him on the escape pods and those who are getting onto the ship with Chevre. He announces over the intercom throughout The Eleventh Hour to abandon ship, and then they make their escape.

The battleship shakes a few times as they rush through the corridors, and whether it’s from barely missed cannon fire or more debris makes little difference to the fleeing crew. The Captain opens the door to the hangar and motions for the crew to go past him. The ship shakes more intensely. A blast from the laser cannon has ripped through the shield and torn apart the ship’s hull, sending the last remaining crewmembers who have yet to enter the hangar into the vacuum of space. The Captain jumps forward and grabs one of them – a young bronzeblood soldier named Vaccas – and pulls her safely through the door.

VACCAS: [thank you so much captain]  
MARIUS: You’re uuelcome soldier. Get onto the ship with the samuripper and the laughsassin immediately.  
VACCAS: [yes sir]

The Captain, Nakhah, Ashvah, and their followers reach the escape pods in the side of the hangar, and Nakhah goes to work activating them. Nakhah shouts over to Makoto, who is about to board the rebel ship, as the escape pod doors open.

NAKHAH: I’ll contact you when we reach the planet’s surface, you got that Sutrah?  
MAKOTO: yeah.  
NAKHAH: You better survive.  
MAKOTO: i will.

There’s a moment’s pause.

MAKOTO: i know you will too.

Nakhah gives a genuine smile.

NAKHAH: Thanks for the vote of confidence!

Makoto gets onto the stolen ship without a further word. The rebel ship flies out of the hangar, and the Captain, Nakhah, Ashvah and the others get into the escape pods and fire off towards the planet’s surface...

...and from the escape pods, all three of them see the stolen ship carrying Makoto, Chevre, Vaccas, and the rest of the crew blown to pieces by the laser along with the last of The Eleventh Hour.


	4. ~The First Aside~

~_A Brief Aside_~

YOU are CAVALINA, a legendary ROGUE of the GUILD OF FRENZIED HOOFBEASTS. Though the blood that flows through your veins is a DARK BLUE that marks you as one of the LADIES of the LAND DWELLERS, you have forsaken your birthright in pursuit of REVOLUTION and EQUALITY FOR ALL. The Seadwellers fear your BOW AND ARROWS almost as much as they fear your BEAUTY, for their matesprits _and _their kismeses have been known to be snatched away by a fleeting glance from you.

At least...little Ashvah Rostam wishes that was all true. She’s in the second half of her fifth sweep, and while she’s old enough to play FLARP, she’s starting to get the impression that it might not really be her thing. The world building is really awesome and the chance to even pretend to be her awesome ancestor with real stats and stuff sounds great, but she doesn’t think she really has it in her to actually fight the seadwellers who play the game every day and have ridiculously high stats.

They’re really mean and scary, and Ashvah isn’t very good with her dinky bow and arrow. Every time she tries to shoot it she just ends up breaking it. It was suggested to her that she utilize her raw strength as a LASS SCRAPPER instead, but her ancestor was known for her archery skills, not her ability to punch people out. What’s the point in playing if she couldn’t even get into character?

She is hanging around in the field right outside of the “starting town” of their campaign. She keeps her bow out in front of her and her other hand on an arrow in her quiver. She’s hoping that if she spends a lot of time shooting the odd squeakbeast that maybe she’ll actually be good enough to play the character she made. All she has to do is somehow assure that a million or so squeakbeasts will keep showing up in this place and never get the hint that they’re all getting shot by arrows. It’s a tough gamble, but Ashvah is hoping it’ll pay off.

One scurries out of a bush, heading out into the open while squeaking at the top of its lungs.

She nocks her arrow and prepares to shoot.

But somebody shoots her first.

ASHVAH: <-ow!->

The blast from the seadweller’s rifle really burns her arm, and she sees her health bar drop above her head.

ASHVAH: <-come on! there’s not suppposed to be any pvp near the starting town!->  
SEADWELLER: lwol wwho cwares  
SEADWELLER: gwive mwe ywour swtuff nwoob  
ASHVAH: <-what are you even saying? i don’t understand your stupid accent->  
SEADWELLER: qwq mwore nwoob lwmao

Little Ashvah is run through from behind with a flying harpoon. Splashes of indigo blood fly across the grass. She loses nearly half of her hit points.

SEADWELLER 2: WhahaW WniceW  
SEADWELLER 2: WcaughtW WmeW WaW WwhaleW WlolW  
SEADWELLER 1: hwey bwack owff swhe wwas mwine fwirst awsshole  
SEADWELLER:1: WgoW WfuckW WyourselfW WnoobW  
SEADWELLER 2: wwho awre ywou cwalling nwoob nwoob  
ASHVAH: <-just stop!->

Ashvah throws her bow at the first seadweller. It smacks him right in the face and takes a dent out of his health points.

SEADWELLER 1: fwuckin  
SEADWELLER 1: fwuck ywou nwoob  
SEADWELLER 1: iwll fwuckin kwill ywou fwor twhat  
SEADWELLER 2: WnotW WifW WiW WkillW WherW WfirstW

The rifleman lifts up his rifle to shoot Ashvah again and the harpooner summons another harpoon from his sylladex to hurl it at her. She raises her arms in futility. She didn’t expect to die this early on in the game, even if she knew it was a possibility. Indigo tears fill her eyes. She was supposed to be the cool and beautiful Cavalina. She was supposed to be badass and steal people’s matesprits.

Not everybody gets to be a winner. Not everybody gets to be awesome. She’d have to learn that eventually.

Right before she met her grisly death was as good a time as any.

Suddenly, a loud roar echoes throughout the plain. The Seadwellers scream and drop their weapons in surprise. A monstrous stripebeast has appeared with a mouth full of sharp teeth. Its drool is a thick olive color and it watches the seadwellers with the same intensity as a cat watches a swimming fish. Both seadwellers know full well that their FLARP weapons, however effective, won’t stand a chance against a full grown stripebeast. They abscond as quickly as possible.

The stripebeast’s body tenses, eyeing them hungrily, ready to leap into action to hunt them both. A voice calls the beast back, however. Ashvah sees that it is a young girl her age, with long black hair that covers her face and falls down to her waist. She’s a feral looking child wearing the Sign of the Chameleon, an olive blood sigil, on a tattered black shirt that is so big it falls to her knees. Based on the rest of the look of her, it may be the only article of clothing she’s ever worn.

TIGER GIRL: Hey.  
ASHVAH: <-Hey.->  
TIGER GIRL: You don’t look so good.  
ASHVAH: <-I...lost half of my hit points.->  
TIGER GIRL: What?  
ASHVAH: <-I’m playing FLARP. Those guys attacked me even though it was against the rules.->  
TIGER GIRL: Wait...you’re CHOOSING to get attacked by these people? On purpose?  
ASHVAH: <-I mean...yeah? I guess? They weren’t supposed to attack me though...not yet anyway.->  
TIGER GIRL: That’s so weird. You’re weird.  
ASHVAH: Speak for yourself, Stripebeast Girl!  


The olive blood tenses and grinds her jaw. The mighty stripebeast growls upon noticing her child’s distress.

TIGER BOY(?): I’M NOT A GIRL!  
ASHVAH: <-You’re...not? You don’t sound like a boy.->  
TIGER [?]: I’m not a boy, either!  
ASHVAH: <-Then what are you?->  
NAKHAH: Nakhah.  
ASHVAH: <-What’s a Nakhah?->  
NAKHAH: Me.

A moment of silence passes between them. Ashvah’s Imagination stat is actually her lowest. She wasn’t really thinking of putting a lot into it, given that Vim and Pulchritude were much more important for the build she was playing. Finally, however, the random number generator grants her a miracle, and little Ashvah’s eyes suddenly go wide.

ASHVAH: <-Oh! Nakhah is your NAME!->  
NAKHAH: Yeah.  
NAKHAH: You’re not super smart, are you?  
ASHVAH: <-Hey! I’m strong and I’m pretty! That’s the build I’m playing!->  
NAKHAH: Will you shut up about this stupid game? It sounds really dumb. And lame. And like you can’t even think for yourself without using weird words.  
ASHVAH: <-I mean, it makes things a lot easier to get.->  
NAKHAH: Whatever.  
NAKHAH: Anyway, come over here.  
ASHVAH: <-Why?->  
NAKHAH: Because you’re hurt and I want to help you.  
ASHVAH: <-Why do you want to help me?->  
NAKHAH: I don’t know, maybe it’s because I don’t like seeing your gross indigo blood everywhere.  
ASHVAH: <-Hey!->  
NAKHAH: Or maybe, I don’t know....  
NAKHAH: Because you’re pretty.

Little Ashvah blushes, even while most of her blood is spilling from her back where the harpoon is still impaled.

ASHVAH: <-Really?->  
NAKHAH: I mean you are. You’re pretty. I’m not like RED for you or anything. I’m just saying you’re nice to look at, and it sucks to see someone so nice to look at hurting so badly.  
ASHVAH: <-That’s really sweet of you, Nakhah!->  
NAKHAH: Um.  
NAKHAH: Sure.  
NAKHAH: Just...let me help you okay.  
ASHVAH: <-How are you going to help me?->  
NAKHAH: If you’d just come over here you’d see!  
ASHVAH: <-Okay okay!->

Ashvah tentatively approaches Nakhah. Nakhah rolls their eyes and motions for Ashvah to hurry up. The stripebeast sits calmly with her tail wrapped around her and watches the approaching troll child curiously. Ashvah stands in front of Nakhah and holds her arms wide, smiling shyly at her new friend.

ASHVAH: <-Okay...show me!->

Nakhah places a finger firmly on Ashvah’s forehead and closes their eyes.

NAKHAH: Close your eyes. Breathe in deeply. Breathe out fully.

Ashvah follows Nakhah’s instructions to the letter. Nakhah’s finger feels as warm on her brow as a metal surface just after sunset. She feels herself forgetting the pain in her back even as the harpoon remains impaled in her. Nothing matters except for this moment, here and now, and the two of them standing together.

NAKHAH: Think about what just happened that hurt you. Think about it as clearly as your Mind allows. You don’t need to tell me. Just think. Imagine it as clearly as you can.

Ashvah envisions the seadweller’s rifle firing at her arm as she prepares to fire upon the squeakbeast. She remembers the feeling of pain as her body is burned by the rifle blast. Then, just as the image comes to her mind, it disappears. That never happened. The rifle missed her. It scared the squeakbeast away and she never had a chance to fire her arrow. The burn marks on her arm disappear and her health bar refills a little.

ASHVAH: <-Wait, what just happened?->  
NAKHAH: Shh! Keep thinking about what happened!  
ASHVAH: <-Okay...->

The seadweller was...embarrassed? That his shot missed? He tried to play it off like he intended to hit the squeakbeast, but Ashvah was in the way. Ashvah asked him whether or not he was also trying to get better at shooting, which really only embarrassed the Seadweller further and convinced him to leave after deciding he didn’t want to hang around with “swtupid nwoobs” after all. Is that what happened? Ashvah didn’t think that’s how it happened.

Then the harpoon went sailing by and hit the other seadweller instead of her.

The harpoon is no longer in Ashvah’s back. The wound it caused never happened at all. Her health bar is full.

ASHVAH: <-What...did you do?->  
NAKHAH: I healed you.  
ASHVAH: <-How? I don’t understand. I remember things differently now. Did you just...change what happened?->  
NAKHAH: It’s more complicated than that.

Ashvah stares at Nakhah in utter disbelief. She looks at her arm where the burn mark was moments before in wonder. Even her bow is back – she never threw it at that seadweller! What kind of incredible power did this girl – err, Nakhah – have?

ASHVAH: <-You’re amazing!->

Nakhah blushes deep olive and looks away.

NAKHAH: Uhh...thanks. Anyway, I healed you. You’re better. Take better care of yourself. Bye.

Nakhah waves and motions for their stripebeast to follow. The two of them head off at a leisurely pace.

ASHVAH: <-Wait!->  
NAKHAH: What?  
ASHVAH: <-Will I ever see you again?->

Nakhah looks back at Ashvah with confusion.

NAKHAH: You..._want_ to see me again?  
ASHVAH: <-I mean...yeah! You’re awesome! And...you’re really nice. For wanting to heal me. I’d like to be friends.->

Nakhah gives a bashful smile.

NAKHAH: I...sure. I guess. Do you...want to come to my hive? For food, maybe? We’re not too far from here.  
ASHVAH: <-I’d love that! My lusus doesn’t expect me home for a couple hours anyway and I think I’m done with this stupid game.->  
NAKHAH: Probably for the best.  
ASHVAH: <-I’m Ashvah, by the way. Ashvah Rostam.->  
NAKHAH: Nakhah Bastet.

Nakhah extends a hand, but Ashvah scoops them into a big tight hug.

ASHVAH: <-We’re going to be best friends!->

<-->

NAKHAH: Get up, Ashvah!

Ashvah opens her eyes. She’s wearing a science fiction ventilation mask over her nose and mouth. Nakhah is standing over her wearing a similar device on their face, cradling Ashvah in their arms. The surface of Thatone is covered in mildly toxic gas and is incredibly, but survivably, hot. Chunks of the moon are falling through the atmosphere around them. Ashvah looks back to see her damaged escape pod with its door broken open.

ASHVAH: -)-> We made it. -->  
NAKHAH: Yes.  
ASHVAH: -)-> The Captain? -->  
MARIUS: Right here, Archeradicator.

Ashvah looks over at the Captain, who is not only wearing a ventilation mask but also some sort of neck brace across his gills. His eyebrows are knitted in concern as he fiddles with a handheld comm device.

ASHVAH: -)-> And what about the others? -->  
NAKHAH: I think they landed somewhere a few kilometers out. We’re trying to reach them but for some reason communications seem to be jammed. I don’t know if that ship is somehow blocking them or if the moon’s destruction caused some kind of issue.  
MARIUS: Uue haven’t been able to make contact with the Samuripper or Laughsassin either, to see if anyone survived uuhat happened to the stolen ship.

Ashvah’s eyes widen.

ASHVAH: -)-> Oh shit that’s right! Fuck! I didn’t just dream that, then? Their ship got blown the fuck up? -->

Nakhah nods.

NAKHAH: I’m sure they made it out though.  
ASHVAH: -)-> What? -->  
NAKHAH: Can you imagine Makoto Sutrah and Chevre Tarask just _dying_ like that?  
ASHVAH: -)-> Ha. -->

Ashvah smiles behind her ventilation mask.

ASHVAH: -)-> You’re absolutely right, Nakhah. -->

A loud beep emits from the comm device. The Captain laughs.

MARIUS: I am detecting a signal about six kilometers out as you predicted Espionforcer. That must be the others uuho took the escape pods. Uue uuill have to head over there on foot and see uuhat can be done as a team.  
NAKHAH: Understood. Did you check your sylladexes? Do you have everything?

Ashvah and the Captain check their sylladexes. Everything seems to be in order. Ashvah draws her BOW and ARROW for the sake of convenience. Nakhah equips their WATSITONIUM CLAWS. The Captain remains unarmed, though he continues to lean upon his cane.

NAKHAH: Will you be okay, Captain? It’s a long walk.  
MARIUS: I’ll be fine, Espionforcer. Thank you for your concern.

The two of them share a look. Ashvah looks down sadly.

NAKHAH: All right, if you're sure. Let’s go.

~_End Aside~_


End file.
